


not drowning anymore

by thisisgermy



Category: Get Out (2017)
Genre: Lazy story, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Racism, Reflection, Spoilers, heavily for the film, literally minuets after the final events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisgermy/pseuds/thisisgermy
Summary: it's gonna be a long road ahead.





	not drowning anymore

**Author's Note:**

> started: 19/1/2018  
> this is my first film-thing ive ever written. probably the heaviest thing too  
> i watched get out yesterday. no idea how to tag this other than very heavy spoilers for the film

the first thing chris did when he returned to his apartment was throw out every single tea cup he could find. he made sure to not only be rid of them, but that they smashed on their leave, just to be on the extra safe side. next to be tossed away were the metal spoons. a voice, somewhere in the back of his head, said how silly and extra it was to remove the metal cutlery as well, but he argued that it was always better to be safe than sorry. he liked being free in his own body. how was he to know how far that weird, supernatural shit extended to? he sure as hell wasn't going to find out through an accidental sink because someone tapped their fucking teacup. he left no book unturned in ridding his place of the threats, and if anyone that visited his place wanted a cup of tea, they were going to be served soda instead. after he was done with the clean out, he jotted down a reminder to buy plastic spoons in the morning that he stuck to the door of a cabinet. 

 

the next thing he did was strip off, turn on the shower, and throw all of his bloodied clothes into the trash to deal with for later. chris was thankful that rod had took him straight home, but his constant questioning pushed chris further into the brink of exhaustion. many times did rod ask if he was sure he wanted to be alone, and even with several reassurances that he'd be fine, rod still said he'd visit later, with a big six-pack of beer and some recommendations for movies for them to laugh about. it was a kind gesture that chris greatly appreciated.

 

he made sure the water was cranked up as hot as it could go, scrubbing every last inch of his body to try and rid himself of the happenings, but the fresh memories continued to rebound in his head. what was done, what was said, what he felt, what he'd seen - they wouldn't stop, the sensations wouldn't stop, and it freaked him out and annoyed him all in the same breath.

 

he wondered how many more there were. how many more young black folk were trapped in the confines of their own mind, watching the rich white people talk at them, who knew damn well what was happening. trapped, unheard, hapless, scared, confused, all stuck inside of themselves with little room for escape. it made bile rise to the back of his throat. and andre, he was _still there_ , he was _still_ under that control - still in that sunken place, with _them_ , his body acting as a puppet for some old white guy to freely use, and even if chris somehow saved him from their grips, andre would never be able to return to his true self for long ever again, not with someone else's brain inside his head, and it made him so angry, how could anyone take control of another human being as if they were some kind of god-

 

how many more were trapped? he'd long guessed that everyone at the party was in on it, and _man_ , that had been  _a lot_ of white people. chris couldn't understand how they could just, erase the life of one being, literally snatching the bodies of the young for their own gains. implanting themselves into someone else to leech on for the remainder of their life, replacing emotions and memories and their _literal brain and bodies_ , all because they were _jealous_. the whites treated black people as if they were people of magic, their strengths and skills and fitness highly praised like no other white person could compare or even reach the same level. so intimidated that they would rather erase the person within for a too old mind that should have obeyed the rules of life and died. it was inhuman, immature, selfish, morally wrong; it clearly showed a whites cowardice in the face of a black persons pride and worked-for success.

 

in the end, he was glad that the initial threats had been removed. all of the armitage family had been wiped, even the poor puppets, only leaving behind their ageing followers. maybe the victory wouldn't last long; maybe one of them would learn the tactics of neurosurgeon in their own creepy house, and the whole ordeal would start up again. 

 

chris rubbed his head, still feeling vile. he remembered the fire, meaning his other clothes and his phone and camera would surly be tarnished, and all of the evidence of whatever the fuck else the armitage family had been hiding that he was lucky enough to miss would all be up in ashes, too.

 

rose sprung to the forefront of his mind. everything he thought they'd had had been an out right lie. everything she said, everything she did, it wasn't out of love or care or understanding, it was out of necessity, of persuasion, to lure him into that trap that sprung again and again whenever he agreed to whatever she said. she had been empty from day one. cold and scrutinising. a bait set up by her parents that she gladly played the role of with little remorse. and he believed it. told her his deepest secrets, trusted in her words, followed like a puppy like the heart eyed fool he'd been. 

 

but then he thinks again - if he hadn't had hooked up with her, she would have lured someone else back who could have been ten times more unlucky than him. had he listened to rod and avoided the meet up with her parents, he wouldn't have put a stop to it. more and more black people would have been dragged back there, to that horrible, too big mansion, in that coldly unsettling atmosphere, to be scooped out and replaced with someone else. to be treated like a game, an object, for the use and well being of the upper class white people. he couldn't help but admit in feeling a bit smug for that.

 

many more things flooded to his mind, like the grounds keeper, the house keeper, what would have happened if he hadn't clawed at the arm chair, what kind of photographs jim would be taking if he had control of chris's eyes, but he allowed the dread to drain away with the water. he'd done enough thinking for one day. tomorrow the thoughts could re-clog his head, but for now he needed a drink and a lie down.

 

steam enveloped him as he switched the shower off and stepped out, keeping deathly silent as he wrapped a towel around himself. mentally, he was still a mess, and he knew that the damage caused would be a long and laborious fix if it could be fixed at all, but he was home in the time being, and as sid came bounding into the bathroom with a wag of his tail and a soft bark, he couldn't think of anywhere better to be.

**Author's Note:**

> this was only meant to be a short story yet its over 1000 words hfddgfsh


End file.
